Sophie
by penelope lemon
Summary: The one legged prostitute will not be so easily forgotten.
1. Un

By day the port town of Cherbourg was boisterous and excitable and awe-inspiring, but by night, once the ships had set sail and the vendors had packed up their goods, the streets were left quiet and seedy and ghostly, and that was just how Jack Dawson liked it.

With his sketchbook and charcoal tucked under one arm, he meandered over the slick cobblestones, passing gamblers in the allies and drunkards stumbling out of the bars. The oil lamps burned against the pressing darkness, and the salt settled heavy in the air. He had been in Cherbourg for a few days now, with full intentions to continue on to Paris, and from there he wasn't sure where he would go next. Italy, perhaps. But Cherbourg nightlife had a certain obscene charm that drew him in.

 _La Maison_ , a thin, teetering building that sat near the docks, seemed like just the place Jack was looking for. He entered, and was greeted with the sound of howling laughter and the smell of stale sweat. He grinned, finding himself amongst the vagabond and bohemian life he seemed to adapt to so well. The procurer made her way towards Jack, and short, plump woman with a long face. She looked up at him and said something in French.

Jack winced, trying to remember the French word for "speak"

" _Je ne_ …" he started lamely, waving his hand in an attempt to make the woman understand.

" _Ah_ ," she said, switching to almost flawless English, "American?"

" _Oui_ ," Jack said, just about the only French he knew. He grinned at her, but she seemed to be impervious to his charms.

The woman sighed. "What will a be then? A drink? Or some company?"

"Company," Jack replied. "Someone who understands English. And the cheapest you have, if we're being honest."

"We are all honest here at _La Maison_ ," the madam said. "Wait here."

She disappeared into the crowd of people and Jack glanced around the brothel. It was dimly lit, but considerably nicer than some of the other places he had seen. Men sat hunched over the bar, women in stockinged feet and loose dresses meandered about, a few casting curious glances at him.

The woman returned, pulling along a girl that couldn't have been more than seventeen years old. She had tangled black hair and dark blue eyes and she walked with a limp. The madam pushed her forward and she stumbled, Jack catching her by the arm before she hit the floor.

"There you are," the madam said, "Cheapest we've got."

The girl smiled up at him, straightening. She adjusted the strap on her dress, pulling it up over her bony shoulder. It was a sleeveless, thin dress, with a tattered bottom that had once been white but had since turned grey. " _Monsieur_ ," she greeted.

Jack looked over the girls head towards the madam, giving her a nod. The woman scowled at the two, moving off towards the bar.

"Follow me," the girl said in broken English and turned, leading him towards the stairs. They ascended the rickety steps, Jack glancing over the wood banister as they climbed.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Sophie," the girl said, " _Et toi_?"

"Jack, pleased to meet you," he said, following her down a narrow corridor. She opened the door to one of the rooms and Jack slipped inside after her. She limped over to the bed, undoing her laces as she went. Jack glanced around the room, pulling a chair in the corner closer to the bed. He went to the lamps and turned them up, allowing more light in the room. When he turned back around, he saw Sophie standing at the foot of the bed, her dress puddled around her feet.

Jack's eyes wandered down to her left leg, where her thigh was secured in a prosthetic limb. It explained the limping and the fact that her price was so low. The top was leather, laced closed around her thigh similar to the way a corset was tied. The knee was a rusted, metal hinge joint, and the calf was made from barrel staves. The ankle had a similar joint, a screw replacing what would have been the bone, and the foot was carved wood.

She grinned when she saw him staring.

"Do you like it?" she asked with cheek. Jack's eyes flickered to hers and he matched her smile.

"Very much so," he replied, and indicated to the bed. "Lay down?"

She did, climbing onto the bed, pulling her wooden leg across the sheets. Jack took a seat in the chair, pulling out his sketch book and balancing it on his knee while he sharpened his charcoal.

"What are you doing?" Sophie asked, sitting up.

"Sketching," Jack said.

"We 'ave only an 'our."

"And I shall get at least two pictures out of it," Jack said, "Hold still."

She laid back down on the bed obediently, watching him.

"I 'ave never 'ad a customer pay to sketch me."

Jack looked over the top of his sketchbook, smirking at the girl. "One arm above your head, one hand on your chest. Yes, like that," he said gently and she obeyed. Jack turned back to his parchment, dragging the charcoal along the sheet of paper.

"It must be because I am very beautiful," Sophie teased and Jack grinned. She was pretty, but poverty and prostitution had taken its toll on her youth, and the few handsome features she had left struggled to show. There was a sadness in her forget-me-not eyes, her mouth was hard and her cheeks hallow, making her look older than seventeen. He purposefully didn't sketch the bruises on her breasts and hips, and carefully avoided thinking about where they had come from.

"You have very nice hands," Jack replied because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"My 'ands?" she asked with a frown, holding them up in front of her face to study them. Jack scowled at her and she hastily put them back in position with a sheepish grin. "You 'ave a strange accent," she said.

"I'm American."

"What are you doing in Cherbourg?"

"Making my way to Paris."

"Why?"

"To draw. Meet different people. Gain experiences."

"You can not do that in America?"

"We don't have the Eiffel Tower in American."

" _Ah_."

"Hold still."

She laid quietly, her head resting against her arm as she watched him draw.

"What happened to your leg?" Jack asked, after a few minutes.

She glanced down at the prosthetic, as if she had forgotten it was there. Her eyes widened. " _Mon dieu_! Where 'as it gone?" She looked back up at Jack, grinning at her own joke. She laid her head back down. "There was an accident when I was young. A pair of spooked 'orses. A runaway carriage. I do not remember much."

Jack nodded.

"'ave you a lover in Paris?" Sophie asked.

Jack laughed. "And what on earth would make you say that?" he asked.

"Because you will not lie with me."

"I told you, I'm here to draw."

She snorted in disbelief. "Every man wants to keep some company. If not mine, then there must be someone else for you. Perhaps a mistress in Paris? Or a girl back home in America? Or perhaps you prefer to keep the company of someone from the male persuasion? We 'ave those, you know."

Jack laughed again. "My one and only love thus far as been art," he said.

"Pity," she remarked.

"How long have you been at _La Maison_?"

"Since I was fourteen. Madam takes good care of us."

Jack found that hard to believe, seeing as the way the madam had treated Sophie downstairs, but if she had been at the brothel since she was a girl, she likely didn't know better. Like a starving dog receiving table scraps; grateful for a semblance of kindness.

Jack brushed the charcoal along the paper, shading in the lines on her hands, the shadows of her eyelashes, forming the bow of her lips. He flicked to a blank sheet.

"Are you wondering why I am 'ere?" Sophie asked.

"I suppose so," Jack replied. He was mostly interested in doing some drawings from life to expand his portfolio, but if the girl had a story to tell, he would happily hear it.

"Because I like it. Does that shock you?" she said, gauging his reaction, looking for surprise. He only smiled at her. She sighed. "I am smart, though I may not look it. I can read—"

"And you speak English very well," Jack interjected.

"Yes, that too," she said. "I can do many a things, if I wanted, but I do not because I like it 'ere. The girls are my _sœurs_ , the madam is my _gardien, La Maison_ is the _toit au-dessus de ma tête."_ Jack wasn't sure what the last part meant, since he wasn't that fluent in French, but he understood the gist of what she was saying. Sophie went on, "Without them I have nothing, without this, I am nothing. I am safe 'ere, I belong 'ere."

Jack's hands paused over the paper. He glanced up at her. Her smile had vanished, but as soon as she noticed him looking at her, the corners of her mouth turned up.

Jack pursed his lips.

He had found peace with the life he had been given. It was nothing dazzling, at times it was more grueling than rewarding, but he was perfectly fine with that. It was one thing to find the good in a bad situation, it was another thing for Sophie to kid herself into thinking that what she had was happiness.

"Is that honest?" Jack asked.

She looked at him, brow furrowed. "Of course."

"The madam said 'We are all honest at _La Maison_ ' so I would have to put a black mark on your record if you are lying," Jack teased, but a hint of seriousness crept into the edges of his voice.

Sophie picked up on it. She sat up, her thin black hair falling over one shoulder. "What are you saying?"

"This isn't a life," Jack said sincerely. "And you can't trick yourself into believing it is one."

Sophie moved to the edge of the bed, using her hands to swing her prosthetic leg over the side. She stood up, wobbling slightly, them limped to her pile of clothes. "I do not want to 'ear you," she snapped, her good nature vanishing.

"I'm only repeating what you said," Jack replied evenly. "You're more than just a prostitute, so why limit yourself in this brothel?"

He had lost her. She wasn't listening as she snatched up her dress, covering herself protectively. He noticed angry tears in her eyes. Jack sighed, pulling out the completed drawing of her from his sketchbook. He stood up, dropping the sketch onto the chair, along with some coins. He knew when he was no longer welcome, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her more.

"I do not want your money," she said quietly.

"Yes, well, neither do I," Jack muttered.

He brushed past her and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He trudged down the stairs, his drawings back underneath his arm again. He felt the madam's eyes on him as he left the muggy _La Maison_ for the warm, summery night air of Cherbourg port.

Back in the room, Sophie moved slowly towards the drawing he had left. She picked it up gingerly, her fingers tracing the black lines Jack had sketched. It was beautiful, the amount of detail and care he had put into the picture. It was in impartial depiction of her; her hair was stringy, her eyes deep set, her cheeks slightly sunk with a ghost of a smile. No embellishments to make her, or the drawing, more appealing. Just raw art.

 **Authors Note**

 **There's a little poll on my profile that I've set up, since I haven't decided who the love interest will be (if I decide to give Sophie one). Place a vote?**


	2. Deux

Jack found himself standing outside _La Maison_. He was supposed to catch the last train for Paris tonight, but he had a few hours to spare before going to the station. He pushed open the heavy wood door and entered the brothel, the familiar layabout atmosphere greeting him in a haze of cigarette smoke and bourbon. It was warm inside, making him feel lethargic.

Across the room, a dark haired, one legged prostitute was leaning over a card game, watching a pair of men place their bets. She caught his eye, her lips parting in a impish smirk. She bounded over to him on precarious footing, looking like a newborn foal.

" _Mon ami!_ " she greeted. "'ow 'ave you been? I 'aven't seen you for some time."

"I know," Jack replied, indicating to his leather bound sketch book. "Do you have an hour to spare?"

"For you? But of course," Sophie said and lead him up the stairs to their usual room. As per their ritual, Sophie slipped out of her dress and pulled herself onto the mattress, while Jack adjusted the lighting and moved the chair closer to the bed. He directed her position, noticing a yellow and brown bruise on the side of her face, before taking a seat.

He sat back with a sigh, tapping the tip of his pencil against his temple. "What happened here?" he asked.

" _Ah_ ," Sophie said, "A customer last week was a bit too... _ah_ , what is the word?"

"Excitable?" Jack tried as he drew the sharp angle of her jaw.

" _Non, non_..." she said, pausing a moment to think. "Vehement?" she asked, looking at Jack for conformation. He nodded his head and she smiled. " _Oui_ , vehement. When 'e grabbed me, my leg..." she tapped her fingers against the leather cinch of her prosthetic, "...collapsed and I fell and 'it my head against the bed post."

"I'm sorry."

She brushed his pity off with a wave of her hand. "You should feel sorry for 'im. Madam does not like her _filles_ to be touched that way. _Ruine les marchandises_ , as madam says; ruins the goods. She tossed 'im out."

Jack chuckled. In the few short weeks he had spent in and out of _La Masion_ , he had found the madam to be a hard pressed woman of singular taste. She mothered her prostitutes, she ran a hard bargain, and she most definitely did not appreciate Jack's presence in her brothel. He was charming to most, but the madam would have none of his nonsense, so he kept his distance.

A beat of silence passed between them before he spoke again.

"I'm leaving for Paris."

"When?"

"Tonight."

He glanced over his drawing at her when she didn't immediately answer. She was frowning at him slightly, a hurt look clouding her gaze. He had been dreading that look of disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She hastily blinked, then looked away.

"It is fine," she said quickly. "Everyone leaves eventually."

"Don't say that."

She didn't reply, pouting.

"Come now, Sophie, don't be cross. Not on our last night together."

She looked at him. "I am going to miss you," she said softly.

Jack smiled. "I'll miss you."

They fell silent again, the sound of charcoal scratching against the parchment filling the room. Below them the noise of the pub drifted up through the floorboards. Muffled laughter filled the empty space between them.

After their first meeting, and consequently their first fight, Jack returned the next night. He didn't have much to give as a peace offering to Sophie, only a promise that he would behave himself if she let him draw her. Sophie was not one for holding grudges, and was all too willing to agree. Over the next two weeks, Jack accumulated twelve studies of Sophie, including the first piece he let her keep.

They usually talked-or rather, Sophie talked and Jack listened-while he sketched, but the news of tonight had caused a somber silence to come over them. Instead, she watched him draw her.

A crash came from downstairs. There was shouting. Then the shrill blast of a whistle. Chaos erupted in the floor below them. Sophie shot up from the bed, and wild smile on her face.

"A raid!" she said and staggered off the bed to her dress on the floor. Jack jumped and lunged for the door, the chair toppling over in his haste.

"Raid?" he asked over the noise from downstairs. He threw the bolt on the door "I can't get arrested. I've got a train to make tonight!"

Sophie yanked her dress up and Jack went to her, helping her tie the laces.

"You bought a ticket?" she asked over her shoulder, disbelievingly.

Jack scoffed. "Don't be absurd, but I can't hop a train if I'm in the penitentiary."

Sophie limped towards the window and unlatched it while Jack gathered his supplies. He could hear boots thundering up the wooden stairs, and the madams outraged cries from the bar. The girls down the hall from Sophie and Jack screamed as their doors were flung open by the constables. Jack moved across the room, meeting Sophie at the window.

She climbed out onto the narrow balcony. Someone banged a fist against the door, rattling the hinges. The bolt would stall them, but not for long. Jack stepped out after Sophie. The night was calm, with a warm breeze coming off the water. Jack clutched the wrought iron rail and looked over at the story drop below them.

"We're jumping?" he asked, watching Sophie hike up her skirt and take her wooden leg in both hands, hauling it over the side.

"'ave you a better idea?" she asked, slipping her other leg over. She twisted around and lowered herself slowly, panting from the excitement. She met Jack's uncertain gaze. "Steel yourself, _mon ami_ , it's this or them." She dropped until she was hanging onto the iron bars by only her hands, body dangling over the street below. There was a moment of brief hesitation before she let go, falling with a yelp of surprise.

Her leg cracked against the stone and collapsed under her when she landed. She cried out, catching herself with her hands before meeting the cobblestone completely.

Behind Jack, the door splintered off the threshold and two men in uniform pushed their way into the room. He clambered over the rail and hastily jumped, his knees and ankles jarring from the force of his land. He dropped into a roll then scrambled to his feet.

"Christ," Jack hissed, pulling Sophie to her feet. "Are you alright?"

" _Oui_ ," she said breathlessly, wiping her dirtied hands on her dirtied skirt.

Above them, a constable blew his whistle, the high pitched shriek piercing the night. At the front of _La Maison_ , a small crowd had gathered, and handful of businessmen and politicians dispersed into the night, trying to salvage what was left of their dignity and precious reputations.

Jack grinned, taking Sophie's hand and running deeper into the alley, melting into the shadows between the tightly spaced buildings. She stumbled after him, tripping a few times on her bad leg. They loped around a corner, the alley opening up to the docks. Sophie's leg thumped over the salt soaked planks as they ran.

"Wait, wait," she panted, her uneven steps slowing, "Stop."

Jack dropped her hand and she heaved a few deep breaths, massaging her hip on the side of her missing leg. She winced.

"Come on," Jack said, catching his breath. "Let's sit."

He lead her over to the stack of shipping containers and sat down, leaning his back against the damp metal. She settled down next to him, sighing. Jack sighed too, shuffling through his drawings to make sure they were okay. He chuckled, the adrenaline wearing thin in his system and the absurdity of the night setting in. He laughed harder and Sophie's breathless giggles joined in. He dropped his head back against the steel.

They waited for a few minutes, listening for the constables. Jack glanced around their hiding place once, but no one was on the docks this late at night. The waves lapped against the seawall, ships strained against the mooring lines, and a few berths down from them a stray dog barked. The night was unsettled, but quiet.

Jack swallowed, his breath coming easier.

"After the accident," Sophie said, her lungs no longer burning, "I was a burden."

Jack looked at her. Her dark hair melted into the darkness. Her skin was pale in the moonlight. The shadows across her face were long and eerie. She tucked her knees up under her skirt, wrapping the hem of her dress rightly around bare feet.

"I could not walk. I could not work. I tried to 'elp, but I did not know 'ow to navigate without my leg. It was 'ard, and painful," her voice was a whisper, " _Mon père_ told me I 'ad to start pulling my weight again or else we would starve. 'e couldn't afford a useless mouth to feed. I tried...I tried..."

Jack watched her carefully. Typically cheerful and foolhardy, this was a serious side of Sophie he had not seen before. She rested her cheek on her knees, looking at Jack. There was still that smile of hers, tugging at the corner of her mouth, like this pathetic story couldn't touch her. Like it was someone else's burden, not hers. In all their time spent together, during all their long conversations, not once had she mentioned her father, or her life before _La_ _Maison_.

"'e sold me to _La Maison_ and the madam a few days later. Everyone always leaves; _m_ _on_ _père,_ the customers, and now you. People abandon things they no longer care for. Things that are broken."

Jack's brows pinched together and he frowned. "That's not fair," he said forcefully, "You know that's not how I feel about you."

She shook her head. "It does not matter. I may 'ave only one leg, but I am stronger than most," she brushed her hand through her hair, moving the strands off her face. She looked at Jack and smiled. "I am strong, no?"

"Yes. One of the strongest people I've ever met."

The truth behind his words pained Jack to say them. He understood why she believed her only home was a whore house. Why she thought her only value in life was prostitution. Why she had no semblance of self worth, but every ounce of goodness and humor and life that propelled her through this misery that surrounded her.

"I am strong," she whispered, nodding her head. She glanced at Jack, her lips cracking a smile. "You, you are not so strong."

Jack threw her a contemptuous look. She laughed, pulling herself to her feet. Jack did not follow, remaining where he sat, his forearms resting on his knees.

"Jack, you 'ardly run faster than a gimp," she teased, "At your pace, all those troubles you are trying to run from will soon catch up."

"I'm not running from any troubles," Jack murmured.

"Perhaps not yet, but you will," she said with that devil may care smile of hers. She leaned over and kissed both of Jack's cheeks. "Say _bonjour_ to the Eiffel Tower for me." She straightened and walked off further down the docks, swinging her arms to help propel her stiff wooden leg. Jack watched her go, smiling and shaking his head because he wasn't sure he would ever be able to find a girl more morally skewed, yet as helplessly innocent, as Sophie. He stayed on the docks a little while longer, before he knew he had to move if he wanted to make the last train to Paris.


End file.
